


What It Takes To Survive

by writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Depression, Disordered Eating, F/M, I'd call it hurt and comfort but lets be real its mostly hurt, M/M, Modern verse, a list of things I am sorry for: this fic, istg one day i will write something for this couple that will be happy, still birth child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:32:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6960847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/pseuds/writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raising five kids is hard enough without trying to cope with depression.</p><p>There are people who scream at their children. Who tell them they should be grateful. Who tell them that they brought them into this earth- they can take them out.</p><p>Eliza isn't foolish enough to say those sorts of things. </p><p>Not anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Takes To Survive

There are children to be tended.

Eliza moves robotically. She pours cereal and milk into bowls, says nothing when Alex Jr, her oldest living son, eats mac and cheese instead. Thanks him, quietly, when he gathers the younger kids up and sits them in front of the tv. Angie, bright, responsible Angie, pushes a cup of yogurt in her direction and cleans up the dishes before settling down with her siblings.

Normally she would fuss. Eliza believes in going outside, believes in arts and crafts. She wants her children to get the most out of life, always swore she wouldn't use the screen as a babysitter.

But there's also laundry and meals to be cooked. Each piece she pulls from the washer feels as if it weighs twenty pounds. Water drips to the floor as she moves, slowly, to put them into the dryer. Eliza takes a towel from the top of the dryer, puts it down so that the floor doesn't warp.

Doesn't bother to pick it back up when she returns to the kitchen.

Stares at the yogurt. She should eat. She knows this. Hunger gnaws in the background and it is right there. She fixes a glass of water instead. 

Pretends she doesn't notice Angie's worried look. Angie pulls out the ham and cheese from the fridge and Eliza moves to get the peanut butter. It's too high up for Angie to reach, and she knows if she doesn't get it, her daughter will find a chair. She's resourceful like that. Doesn't like to use the knife, so she tears at the ham as she arranges it on the bread, gnawing on her bottom lip as she goes.

The counter is smooth under her grip. Eliza hates how hard she has to hold to keep herself standing. Breathes in through her nose as she reaches for a piece of bread. Uses a butter knife to smear the peanut butter on it. Peels a banana from the fruit bowl so that she can slice small pieces to go on top. It's the only type of sandwich that William, her youngest boy, will eat. 

William's picky that way. Likes his cereal for breakfast, likes his sandwich for lunch, chicken nuggets for dinner. Eliza is just glad that it's things she can do. They'd spent two years trying to convince him to try other things, and sometimes she still occasionally sneaks some vegetables in. But times like these? It isn't worth the energy.

Later she'll worry if that makes her a bad mother. For now, she calls for Alex. Usually, she wouldn't let them eat in the living room but it's probably for the best today. With the three of them, they should be able to carry out lunch for the rest.

Alex jr. pops into the kitchen and before she can tell him what she needs, asks if after lunch they can see if the Mulligan boy can play ball. Eliza nods. If Hercules isn't available to watch them, she should probably at least sit outside. But that's okay. She can do this.

The plate Angie is carrying is stacked with three sandwiches, and Alex snags a few paper towels before grabbing the rest. The idea of coming back into the kitchen is too much, so Eliza reaches under the counter to grab a plastic bag. Drops water bottles and carpi suns in it. Places the bag at the end of the couch and watches as Alex shoves the rest of his food in his mouth. Waves him on when he jerks his chin toward the door.

Hercules comes over a few minutes later. "You want me to keep the rugrats out of your hair for a bit?"

It's friendly, though he's got one hand on Junior's back as if he's not sure if the boy had permission to leave the house. That's one of the many things Hercules is good at, making sure that the kids don't get themselves in trouble. Keeping everyone safe. She thanks him for his willingness, tries not to show how exhausted she is when he laughs. Tells her that it's the least that he could do considering her husband helped them get the house.

Alexander, her husband, doesn't often get them in people's good graces with his job at the bank, but they'd gotten lucky there. It'd been a pleasant surprise when Hercules moved in next door with his husband, Gil, and their adopted son, Georges. A good boy, around little Alex's age. 

When he's herded the children out the door, Eliza finally allows herself to sit. Ignores the buzzer of the dryer, because at least it's the dryer. Nothing will spoil if she doesn't manage to get to them just yet. 

Part of her wants to turn the tv on, to give herself some background noise if nothing else. But the remote is on the other side of the couch and suddenly she can't see herself doing that even. If she leans over, she'll lay down. If she lays down? She'll go to sleep. 

And she can't sleep. Needs to be awake just in case something goes wrong with the kids. Just in case Hercules needs her to take over. 

So instead she stares at the wall, trying to will herself to get up and get something from the kitchen.

It's how Alexander finds her hours later. There's a joke halfway out of his mouth, something about the dinner she hasn't cooked, but it dies when he sees her. "Eliza?"

Eliza blinks, ignores the wetness of her lashes, ignores the weight on her chest, exhales harshly. Shoves herself up, heads toward the kitchen. "I didn't realize how much time had passed. I'm sorry. I can do better. I'll fix a salad real quick. We might have something that can be warmed up."

A hand falls on her shoulder. "Betsey?"

"I need to fix dinner, the kids will be home soon." It's too heavy for her to shrug off.

Alexander doesn't move, continues to stand in her way. "I'll text Gil, see if they mind having a sleep over. It's a weekend."

That's too much. She opens her mouth to tell him that, but all that comes out is air as he pulls her into his chest. "We could call your mom? She's offered to babysit before."

"I'm fine." She is. She's fine. 

But he doesn't budge. "Here, sit down on the couch. Just like that. I'll text Gil. We'll figure out what to do from there."

Gil's delighted at the idea of a sleepover and Eliza listens as Alex offers to pay for pizza over the phone. Something the man apparently waves off, if the conversation that follows means anything. Eliza allows herself to sink back into the couch, numb. Unsure of what she's supposed to do. 

When he gets off the phone, Alex kneels beside her. Hand a warm weight on her knee and she stares at it. Better than looking at his face as he asks if there's anything that he can do. It feels wrong to ask him not to leave. Instead, she promises that she can be good. That she can do her duties as a mother and a wife. Apologizes again for losing track of time. She doesn't know what she would do if he left her.

Knows the horror stories. Men stepping out of their wives or just leaving in the night. There's no way that she'd be able to support the kids on her own. It's why she knows that if he ever came home smelling of another woman's perfume she'd say nothing. 

Alexander shushes her. Reassures her that her only duty is to herself. Asks what's wrong. Asks, again, if there's anything he can do to help. 

"I'm a horrible mother." Is what she says instead.

Can't even make dinner for her own kids. Can't finish the household chores. She's a stay at home mother, failing at her only job. Relying on the kindness of neighbors, who somehow manage to both work and take care of their children.

She doesn't know what she expects him to say in response, but it's not what she gets. "You've been dreaming about Phillip again, haven't you?"

Yes.

"It wasn't your fault, Betsey."

Wasn't it? Her nails bite into her forearms. She'd done her best, she had. She hadn't drank or smoked. She'd tried to eat well. But the fact of the matter was, it was still her body. Still her body that he'd come out of. The therapist said they should name him. The therapist said they should give him a proper funeral. So they had. Little Phillip Hamilton, with eyes she would never see. 

No one tells you how much it hurts to buy a casket that small, there are no instruction manuals for eulogies for someone you never really got to meet. But they'd had a proper funeral. And she'd been fine. Mostly. Gone back to work the next month. Only left when she became heavy with child again. Bed rest. 

Angie had made it where Phillip had not. Then the boys. She's so grateful, she swears she is. Swears it doesn't matter how hard it is to take care of them, how tired she is, that she'll never take them for granted. 

"I'll talk to Washington, see if there's anything I can do about my hours." Alex has been talking this whole time, Eliza isn't sure where this train of thought started but she tries to follow it anyway. "We'll find another therapist."

Eliza nods, to show she's listening. Isn't sure that another therapist will help. 

"Let me help you to bed, Betsey." She's missed something but she takes his hand anyway. She's too weak to argue. Curls up in ball once they get there, doesn't complain when he sits on the corner of the bed and strokes her hair.

Promises her that it'll all be okay. 

It's a promise he can't keep, but she appreciates it anyway.


End file.
